The Crimson Rose
by AmeChi
Summary: In the midst of his birthday, Altair is assigned a mission to capture a woman who'd broken into the Assassin's fortress. As time goes by, certain events turn the whole mission into more than it should've been. // Rated T for now.
1. Waiting For Death

The Crimson Rose

ASSASSIN'S CREED

By: Chi~

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Ubisoft's sexy beast Altair. :frowns: …Damn it…**

**A/N:** Yo! _The Crimson Rose_ is here! Oh my! Yes, another fan-fic. But it involves our dear assassin and an original character. Except, well…this is sort of mature. I'm young, of course, and shouldn't be writing things such as sex and gore and stuff like that…but that shouldn't matter. If you guys like it, I'ma write it! :feels a little black:

:shakes head: Anyways! :beams: Here is the prologue of CR and I hope you all like it. I shall…well, I'll tell you in the foot note. Move along, I won't keep you waiting!

_Read in ½ or Altair might shank you._

* * *

**The Crimson Rose**

_Waiting For Death_

* * *

It would be done with cold swiftness. She knew that for sure.

Though, she had to confess from all the honesty in her large heart that she held no regrets. Most of the tragedy that had happened during that year wasn't something she could control, therefore none of it was her fault. She had loved a man, even though she hadn't known his true nature, lost her children, got them back, fell in love again, and then finally taken due to her first lover's sins needed to be attained for.

To attain for his sins, well…that was _death_.

No regrets, remember. None of it was her fault, and her daughter and son were in safe hands now. Her brother was with them, out of harms way and protecting the children she could no longer care for.

Her lover…the man she loved and wished she had loved before she had even been touched by the liar who had her before, was and would forever be safe. He could take care of himself. He was a closed book; nothing would touch him. He wouldn't let it. It had been a hassle to even get him to open up to her without causing her so much grief, but when he did…well…she was glad she was able to love him – the short time she was allowed to, that is.

She couldn't express how much happiness she felt when she both realized _and_ got a confession that he loved her just the same. Deeply. Truly.

She had known the love would be destructive, due to the fact that she knew she would be taken by her children's captors. She couldn't say anything until the time came – when she would be taken. He had no idea how much she wanted to. But, she didn't. She can only imagine how much anguish he must've felt when she was forced to be taken into custody.

She could only imagine how much betrayal he felt when she went without a fight.

Luckily, she was too numb and impassive to even give a care to act like she didn't care about him. She knew that if she showed _some_ behavior that she hadn't loved him as much as she said and had showed – that he would definitely turn away and not pursue her. But she hadn't. She only gave him a cold look, one that almost made her heart break from his confused and almost shocked look back, and turned from him, following her captors obediently.

God, she loved him. She hadn't even loved her first lover as much as she did him. Everything about him; what he stood for and what he did…

Her own hands were tainted with blood, only because she had the ability to do so since her children had been taken from those very same hands of hers. She had been a women bent on revenge and was willing to kill _anyone_ that got in the way of saving her children. Yes, she had tainted herself willingly.

But her children were safe now. There was no reason to kill just to get them back. There was no reason to fight anymore. Now was the time to pray for forgiveness for her own sins and die. Peacefully.

There was still a storm within her, though. A storm she wouldn't be able to tame. Not even if she tried.

Yes, the love had been destructive. And would be until her final breath. She still loved him, and always would – even after death.

Her eyes, glowing in the darkness due to the full moon's, turned to the night sky and looked up at the stars. It was a clear night. A perfect night for her death, she decided – smiling humorlessly, of course. Such a beautiful night…

Damn, she could see his face. She kept _seeing_ his face. It made her clench her teeth. It made her heart wrench painfully in her chest. It made her legs weak. Everything was going against her; she had tried so hard to stay strong – to keep everything at bay. She hated that her eyes were burning almost agonizingly, pushing her more and more over the edge. She _had_ to cry. She hadn't cried at all that whole year. Her heart had been chilled cold and only beat with excitement when blood rained around her.

Crying wouldn't change anything. She was stronger that this. She had killed many with her two hands; she had hated with all her heart. How could she just fall to her knees so easily?

Her body told her otherwise. She couldn't move; all she could do was turn her head a little to her left and stare out at the moon. She didn't even shake from the chilled air of the dungeon she was in. She was just still, seemingly peaceful.

A peaceful night to die…and she couldn't feel any peace.

He was there. Always there. In her mind. In her presence. In her heart. He would never go away. She tried her hardest to at least let go of him as the time went – bit by bit. But both her heart and his words – his face – wouldn't let her. It was as if he wouldn't let go of her hand, no matter how much she screamed and fought for him to let her go.

Their souls were intertwined and there was no way of breaking away from each other.

He would be with her until the end.

She sucked in a breath as she felt moisture slowly make its way down her cheek and finally drop from her chin to her arm. She knew; he would die with her.

Somehow, she was standing only moments later after first tear flowed down her face. Many came, but she was standing and grasping the window-seal of her cell. A breeze from outside wafted around her, running through her hair and chilling her shoulders. She didn't know what she was doing, but she just let her body and heart do what it wanted. She might as well, she had nothing left.

Breath sucked into her lungs; words floated into her mind. Her eyes drifted to the ground yards below her. She saw the pedestal. She saw the noose. She felt nothing of it as she began to sing,

"_I hold your hands like ornaments  
__And all I meant was to be kind…  
__And all I meant was to be kind…"_

Tears dripped onto the stone under her small, fragile, but bloodied hands.

"_I pull your heartstrings tighter,  
__And play my song as loud as I can,_" she leaned out the window a little, letting her tears fall the fairly long way down to the earth.

Her voice raised in volume a little, letting out the bubbling sorrow that she felt. (She had no idea that even in her anguish; her melodic voice was still beautiful.)

"_I'll sing my heart out for you  
__I'll sing my heart out for you…_"

Who could hear her song? Did she care who heard her? She decided she didn't care as she leaned back in her cell, moving back into the darkness.

"_How does all this feeling grow?_" She sang softly, looking down to where she thought her feet were in dark.

"_How does all this feeling go on?_" His face flashed in her mind again. Again. Again. Again.

"_I pull my sleeves out further and,_" she had no sleeves to pull.

"_I prepare to fight my demons,_" she had no demons to fight.

"_I will not lose again this time,_" her heart told her she didn't lose; her head said otherwise.

"_So wrap your arms around me  
__And sing the words as loud as you can,_" she hugged herself, holding herself at her elbows. Part of her hair slid from her shoulder and hid her face from the moon's light. Her only light.

"_We are together in this world…_"

Her heart skipped, remembering the very night he had…

"…_together in this world…"_

She heard her voice falter and shake. But she regained was bit of control she had to swallow and continue. Her tears gladly continued with her.

"_How does all this feeling grow?  
__How does all this feeling go on?_"

She choked a little, but kept going, ignoring it. She didn't know why…just didn't know why.

"_How does all this feeling grow,_" her voice was lower; still beautiful. "_How does all this feeling go on?_"

Again, he was there. Again. Again. Again. His hand, still intertwined with hers. Squeezing hers. Breathing her in; whispering to her. Him. _Him._ **Him.**

Her eyes became rivers as her head slowly rose up to the moon's rays. A soft smile painted her lips.

"_And I will lift my head above the sky,_" like she'd sang, her head rose a little, raising to the sky.

"_And I will see the stars tonight,_" she sang softly, beautifully, and with all her heart. Staring at the stars.

The rest of the song was his, and in the last moments she had before she was escorted to her death, she listened to his beautiful voice finish the song.

And during that time, she continued to whisper, "I'm sorry."

She really was. And she realized that she really did have regret; just one.

Falling in love. And him loving her back.

Her knees met the cold stone floor. Her shoulders shook. Her hand clamped over her mouth. _I'm sorry…_

Her sobs were not heard by the naked ear; the night was what heard her.

The night's silence soothed her. But the regretful maelstrom inside her continued and would until she hung by her neck from leveled ground. Until her breath was gone and her heart had stopped in her chest.

Until he joined her in the afterlife where she could only apologise and ask for forgiveness.

* * *

**Omake**

"_I pull your heartstrings tighter,  
__And play my song as loud as I can,_" she leaned out the window a little, letting her tears fall the fairly long way down to the earth.

She suck in another breath to continue her song and her sorrow, before - unfortunately - she stopped short when she felt herself begin to slip. She didn't catch herself in time.

"...," she scowled as the air whipped around her and the ever-so-lucky cart of hay came closer; she had falled out the window. Her scowl deepened, however, when she saw a random man, dressed in familiar armor, pulled the cart out of her landing range. "_Shit._"

_Of all the times to fall out a window - OW!_

* * *

…**Well. I **_**will**_** explain. **

Lyrics: **The lyrics, "**_I pull my sleeves our further and, I prepare to fight my demons, I will not lose again this time,"_ **is only a metaphor for the events that have yet to happen…or, more like 'did' happen, but you don't know. You'll understand it as the story progresses. There's already some clues though, so it shouldn't be hard.**

Him: **Uhh, surly you have an idea. No? Well, that sort of sucks for you, doesn't it. :winks:**

Omake: **She fell out the window! Haha! That really sucks for her, ne? **

Song: **The song is "**The Magic of Us,**" by: Bim. It's a heart-warming _and_ heart-wrenching song that just made me want to use it, and this was the perfect opprotunity. There's more lines to the lyrics, but those won't be used until the very last chapter of the story. (I don't own the song by the way, just so we're clear! ...We're not? Oh...well...can I have a head start before I'm incarsurated? Thanks. :breaks off in a sprint:)**

'His' singing: **Can you imagine _him_ singing? I wonder if he can hold a note...? It'd be super sexy if he did...:shivers:**

**Anyways, uhh…yeah. So, tell me what you think. First Assassin's Creed story, but eleventh story all together. **

**The next chapter shall be up mid-January, so it won't be long. If I don't get any reviews, then this story is just going to have be put down then, huh? :frowns: I hope not…but still. It's ya'll's decision. :smiles: Until next time, dear friends. **

**P.S. Zomg! Who's beat Assassin's Creed II?! Argh! I hate you! (Kidding!) But seriously, it's taking me forever to play it…or…more like…I need to get off my ass to play it…haha…:runs off, evilly cackling: **

**P.S.S. Uhh...yeah, sorry, forgot to put the Omake up. Hope you guys liked it, haha. **

**EDITED: January 4th, 2010.**


	2. A Sudden Intruder

The Crimson Rose

ASSASSIN'S CREED

By: Chi~

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Ubisoft's sexiness. Period. **

**A/N:** Well, it seems that I've got a lot of hits but not a lot of reviews. That's okay. At least I'm getting _some_ response. I'm happy with that! :beams:

Let's get the show on the road, hmm? (Also! For some reason, FF - damn you guys sometimes! - won't let my chapter heading be centured, so...it's just stuck on the left - hand side. Goodness, I hate hating things, but this is just....detesting! :stomps away:)

Onward~!

_Read in ½ or…well, no cake for yo!__

* * *

_

**Chapter I**

_A Sudden Intruder_

* * *

_One Year Ago..._

_

* * *

_

Fatin was more exhausted then he'd expected. But that was okay, he didn't blame the poor horse _not_ to be happy and beaming with energy by the time he'd returned to Masyaf. Sometimes, he really hated himself for pushing his dear horse to _his_ limit, but he wasn't really a patient man occasionally. He liked to be as quick as possible during his jobs around the Holy Land and that included getting back to Masyaf as well.

He gave his trusty horse (Fatin) both an affectionate and appreciative nuzzle before he made his way back to his home: the fortress of the Assassins. He was sure the dear horse didn't want to have anything to do with him for a long while. He almost chuckled at the thought; arabic breeds had..._interesting_ minds of their own. Amusing, he had to admit.

Starting up the somewhat steep hill to his destination, he went over the report he would be reciting to Malik, the Creed's new head master, to make sure he didn't really forget anything. He never usually did, but still - he could never be sure. Although, it probably wouldn't matter too much. After all, if the target was deceased, nothing else was needed to be questioned. Ah well, simple musing wouldn't hurt, he decided.

The merchant had been another one of those paranoid types and it had been _somewhat_ (and he used that _very loosely_) difficult to get on with the assassination. The paranoid man had had guards here and there, and it was just something that caused so many set-backs that Altair almost became such an impatient _serpent_, he practically snapped at any fellow brother and even the rafiq that came and confronted him. (Deep down, he sort of hoped not to have another mission in Damascus too soon after this one - the rafiq might...turn murderous on him.)

Any other assassin would've understood, especially since a simple mission of "getting rid of a merchant" - that took _days_ - took almost _two weeks_ - yes, he had been _very_ frustrated - and wouldn't blame him for lashing out on such a short temper that it would even make a stranger's head spin. All the assassins he knew, his fellow elite brothers, agreed that a simple mission as such should only take a day or two - three at the most. _Two weeks_. It was practically self explanatory.

No, it didn't matter. Not anymore. The dreadful (yet respectfully cautious) merchant was dead and his spreading of wrong-doing was stopped. All that was left was the verbal report, a hot dinner, and a bed to finally rest on without caution of certain harm.

Satisified that he was finally back to the place he called 'home', and was very close to completing a mission, he looked around himself as he walked with slight profound enthusiasm. The somewhat wilting flowers from the almost scorching heat didn't fail to catch his attention the higher he went up the hill towards the fortress. Summer was beginning to make its self known. It was obvious from the grass seeming somewhat dry and, well, the flowers burning under the merciless rays of the sun, that it was the beginning of a new season. He had to fight a grimace before it even began to form on his face, however.

_Summer._

He felt his mood slightly grow gloomy and he began to feel the need for isolation, for when summer came...so did the dreaded day of his birth.

His eyes narrowed. It didn't matter. After he recites his report, he was going straight to his room and he would lock himself in there until he found fit to come out (which would be dinner time). He really prefered not to be around anyone during this time of year; human interaction wasn't really on his top list when he was being dragged down by the troublesome past of his life that he couldn't run away from no matter_ what _he did.

Estimating that he would arrive at his home within the next minutes, Altair continued on, somewhat haunted by memories he tried to keep at bay - at least until his birthday. His head begged for solitude, but his heart (quite faintly) wanted a companion to share his admittedly growing and grudging pain. And not only that, but to comfort his practically drowning soul as well...

* * *

"Very well, Altair," Malik smiled, eyes sincere but soft. "You have done excellent, despite the two-week delay."

"Thank you, _Master_," Altair's lip slightly twitched, showing his slight amusement. Months ago, Malik had been a renounced friend (since Malik had forgiven him), and now he was the new leader of the Creed. Somewhat, it was comical referring to his best friend as his master. "I am glad I have not disappointed you - with the delay and all. It had not really been in my power. It had been quite a challenge, I'll admit."

"So I've heard," Malik slightly smirked back, but still kept a small grin as he stared at his friend from his desk. The sun, slowly setting and signally that evening was coming, gleamed and shined over and behind Malik, making him literally glow like a god-sent leader being smiled upon from the heavens. Altair almost smiled, proud that his best friend had been given such a promising position, despite his disability of having only one arm.

"I'm sure you were quite short-tempered and hard to approach for some time," Malik continued, his tone turning slightly hard and somewhat annoyed. "I'm sure you can work on that during you break before the next mission, my brother."

Altair fought back the impulse to grumble under his breath and roll his eyes. "Yes, brother."

"Good," Malik said, sounding pleased and flashed Altair a fast smile before looking down at a parchment on his desk. A calm, comfortable silence passed between them for a short moment as Malik's deep brown eyes seemed to dance across the sheet before he finally looked back up, looking at Altair with sudden concern and understanding.

"I just realized that it is getting close to the day of your birth, brother," Malik finally said after they stared at each other for yet another pregnant moment.

Altair almost sighed, not really surpised. He had wondered why Malik hadn't dismissed him yet. Now that his true intentions were revealed, Altair began to wish he'd never known and that he could just leave for both his friend's sake, and his dignity's. "Yes, so it seems," he answered back, being sure to cloud his true feelings and mask them with not a wary tone, but an impassive one.

"If there's anyone who knows you better, it's me," Malik said gently, as if he were talking to a small, vulnerable child. He offered a calm look, telling Altair that he was there. "If you need anything, please ask - any time - for assistance. I'll be more than glad to help, my friend."

"I will keep that in mind, my brother," Altair answered all too quickly. They both ignored that aspect when he continued, "I know you are always there for me."

"Your _brothers_ are always there for you, too," Malik added, but smiled encouragingly to Altair's rich topez gaze. "You may go as you wish."

Altair gave a stiff nod after a simple bow, paying both his loyal best friend and his master respect before turning on his heal and starting his way down the steps, leading out into the castle where he would walk to his barracks, bolt his door and remember memories best left unsaid to most.

Alone.

* * *

The nostalgic moments had made him tense within the confinment of his room, and the simple yet hot dinner he had hardly soothed his dark mood, but he soon found himself within his room once again, lying on his bed and staring at the stone ceiling and tracing the quite abstract cracks with his unique golden gaze.

Like before, he was alone. _Always_ alone.

There had been Maria. Dear Maria who had skills strikingly like his and a wit that seemed to actually intrigue him. The affair had lasted a time, he mused, but somehow they grew apart and she seemed to had vanished off the face of the earth not too long after.

(If his ego weren't so large and his personality so stubborn, he would've confessed to himself that he had been _hurt_.)

Before Maria...well...that was something that he preferred to repress from the book of his past and he wouldn't be getting into such chapters of his life anytime soon.

Altair closed his eyes slowly, knowing that he would relive parts of his life, but didn't care anymore. He was completely and utterly alone and much to his dismay - he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit because he knew that if he admitted such, he would feel his emotions and his logical chain of thought would become shambled with things he preferred not to face - for both his heart's sake and his sanity's.

Though, for once he pushed himself to be honest. He admitted. He was alone. And he was acutally _sad_. Lonely. Most of all, _depressed_.

He could go to Malik, as his dear friend suggested, and have a long talk with him for his opinions and suggestions (which he was slightly curious on such), but he was sure his dear brother would probably say something along the lines of, "_My brother, you need to bed a concubine._"

Altair didn't think that would really help. It would _definitely_ make him at ease for a time, but overall, he was sure his true feelings would come back again. Therefore, Malik was out of the picture.

Thus...there was _no one else_.

_It doesn't matter_, Altair thought to himself as he sat up and silently set his feet on the floor, staring at his toes with a shadowed face. He was the 'Son of None,' which meant he wasn't meant to have anyone by his side anyway. He'd only grown up such way too. What difference would there be? He was to only rid the world of evil and fight for what's right; nothing was true, everything was permitted - the way of the Creed.

He would do so, whether he would do it alone for the rest of his life...or not.

(His suppressed sorrow cried into the darkness as the new moon turned the sky to black.)

* * *

He had heard a slight movement outside his door.

Moving on the tips of his feet, footsteps silent and golden eyes alert like a hawk, his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to force an assault on the suspicious imposter. Who was it? What did they want with the Assassins? Most likely - it was a spy, he decided.

His eyes narrowed slightly. He would have no mercy.

Though, he was beginning to wonder if he had just heard things when he reached the end of the tower where his barracks recided in with _no_ disturbance the whole way down.

Somewhat grumbling to himself as he grudgingly shunned himself for dragging himself up from his most needed slumber just to scout for something that wasn't there. Perhaps he was finally beginning to lose his sanity. His eyes narrowed, slowly starting to actually consider on confronting Malik with his emotional and growing psychological problems. He'd have to include that he was beginning to hear voices that belonged to people who didn't exist. Even voices that belonged to people he knew. Especially Malik's. In fact, if he listened closer, he could hear his friend in the distance -

"Altair - are you listening," Malik's urgent yet stone-hard voice almost made Altair flinch with surprise before swiftly turning around and meeting the eyes of the Creed master. Altair was almost taken a back when he met his friend and master's gaze. Surely he'd sensed him coming?

_Unacceptable,_ his mind almost screamed in definate horror when he realized he actually _hadn't_. For the first time in a long time, Altair immediately drew the obvious conclusion that - his emotions were getting in the way. And this time, it was deep. Which, made him grimace more. Basically - he ran through his mind - he was lonely in the deepest companionship known to man - which was both a woman and sex.

_Love._

Perhaps he was at the point in his life where he actually wanted to have a woman at his side. One that he could come back to when he was hurt and would give him quiet or verbal company. One that he could come home to and just grab and _fu_ -

"_Altair!_" Fingers snapped in front of his face, close to flicking his nose, when he finally resurrfaced from his suddenly non-shutting up mind. "_Would you pay attention_? Honestly, I have never seen you so _spaced_!" He blinked as he stared at his friend with the help of the blazing torch behind him, providing light. He was about to say something, when Malik bit out a curse and almost look apologetic. "I can relate to the reason why for such behavior - "

"Obviously, Malik, it is not the time. I apologize," he waved it off. "What has happened?"

Malik looked at him with a quizzitive stare before he merely shook his head and got his hard _Master_ exterior. "There has been an intruder and has last been seen around these barrocks. Have you seen or heard anything?"

_So, I'm _not _going insane_, Altair thought with much relief before answering honestly, "I was woken up by the slightest sound outside my room. That's why I'm no longer there."

Malik nodded, sure not to comment what Altair knew what he was thinking, "_had you not known, you wouldn't have even left your room._" He had to agree, it was somewhat true. But the sound had been so slight that if it hadn't sounded through the cracks of his door, he probably would still be sleeping at that very moment. Such things were something to _not_ look over, because only a skilled spy could so such a thing and Altair had inhumanly _sharp_ ears.

Feeling the need to push this silence aside, Altair asked, "Is there any description to this imposter?"

"The intruder has been identified as a female with hair of fire and eyes of the ocean."

"A description like that can only point to Templars."

Malik hummed in agreement. "Yes, but the witness has told me that she wears the mark of an outlaw. It recides on her left wrist."

"Then, for the sake of her life, she is no longer one with the Templars," enquired Altair. "Could she just be a petty thief or spy of some kind?"

"Perhaps so, but, another witness, a novice, has also told me that she questioned him - about our brother, Jasper," Malik answered, showing his slight confusion.

Altair blinked. "Brother Jasper? The Persian descent?"

Malik nodded. "And from this woman's description, I have come to notice that Jasper has eyes of the ocean as well."

"Perhaps a relative?"

"Most likely -" Malik stopped when they both tensed at the same time, noticing a fast approaching ally at their wits.

"Master," the novice began, somewhat breathlessly, but still physically fit. "The intruder, she has slipped from our possession!"

"She has escaped?" Malik grumbled out a curse. "Do you have an idea where she's gone?"

The novice somewhat frowned and shook his head, looking in between Altair and Malik as if to debate on who would blow-up at him for informing such information and who would kill him. (Altair almost grinned menacely at the look.) "She said something along the lines of - "If you won't let me see Jasper, then I'll take my business else where." - and - "I apologize for the trouble I've caused here." - Master."

Malik looked down at the ground, thinking to himself as Altair stared at the novice, as if threatening that he'd better told everything he knew. "Damn, can't believe I haven't asked this - does _- did _- she seem dangerous in any way?"

"She was armed, Master. Quite armed for just a thief...perhaps a spy? She obviously has skill. There are two guards that are unconscious at one of the entrances."

"Yes, that's true...That's what it all seems to be pointing to," he said. "And, plus, what does she want with Jasper? Perhaps..." Malik trailed, drowning himself in his wild thoughts as Altair took the liberty in shooing the novice away. "...hmm..."

"What is it, brother?" Altair looked at him, analyzing.

Malik looked up briefly. "Altair, she could very well be an ally...and if she has the _guts and skills_ to get into this fortress - full of assassins, by the way - then she shouldn't be ignored. _Plus_ - she even got _away_."

Altair slowly nodded, seeing where Malik was getting at. He opened his mouth to say something before his Master raised his hand and gave him a thin smile.

"She could very well be a spy as well. Therefore..."

Altair stared at his friend, almost confused...then slightly annoyed. "Malik, you don't - "

"Dear brother, our fortress - hell, even the village of Masyaf is at stake. Just do this. It'll be quick, I assure you."

Altair felt his teeth clench as his mind bit out_, I don't believe this_... "I think I've heard these words before."

Malik ignored the comment and turned around, seeming smug and triumphant. "I can only have much mercy for a fellow brother, Altair. Yes, you are in pain, but think of it this way - at least you won't be locked in your room for a whole week."

Altair growled and turned around, wanting to just bolt his door like before and stare at the ceiling. "_Damn it_." Great, so much for some isolation. Yes, he didn't need much sleep, and he barely ever really rested, but now he was exhausted from his current mental state and he really didn't want to go out on a mission so soon.

Almost stomping up the steps toward his room, he grumbled to himself in the most childish way, but with the right to do so. After all, his psyche was basically low at the moment and unstable. His patience was thinner, and he didn't know if he could handle as much as he has without a single bat of an eye-lid.

Suddenly, he felt like growling. He had _just_ decided that he was too _vulnerable_ to do anything. What the _hell_? Altair was never vulnerable. That was practically a law or a _fact_. Damn it, it really wasn't the time to go on a mission.

Shaking his head and lightly massaging his temples, he stepped into his room and started towards packing and preparing his weapons. It didn't matter; it was a mission. It wasn't like it would very well be the death of him, if he weren't careful. And he was always careful, because he was basically a perfectionist. He was a king when it came to a clean yet ruthless kill.

Sucking in a breath though his nose, he began towards the small end table to his right, thinking to strap on his weapons and gear before he almost stopped, senses tingling and almost yelling - _someone was here!_

His brow twitched as his nose did, and then he sucked in a full breath silently, testing the air. What he found was somewhat interesting.

The smell of jasmine was in his room.

* * *

He was to capture on sight, and if pursued...well, it was official that he had the _obligation_ to kill.

He almost snorted at the thought as he saddled up Fatin, getting ready to set out, much to both his and dear Fatin's dismay. Whoever this intruder woman was, he knew he would have incredibly _less_ mercy for. And that was something no one could get from Altair. Having no mercy was death for them; mercy from him was basically a _definite privolage._

The guessed location the intruder had fled off to was Acre, since Acre was basically a Templar stronghold. So _what_ if the woman had had the mark of an out-lawed Templar - she could very well be a spy or something. And obviously, she some how had an association with the assassins, since she knew one of the brother's names.

This brought the very assassin to mind, even though he hardly knew the fellow. From what he could actually remember of the Persian descent, who probably in his early twenties, was that he had hair that was dark but had a reddish tent. Also, the man had blue eyes as well. Also, now that he thought about it, Jasper was also Arabic as well. Most likely, he was an inter-racial child, like Altair himself.

The possibility that this intruder was perhaps a relative of Jasper's, and that he was meant to do no harm to the woman (perhaps women were his weakness,was a somewhat high percentage, he thought almost grudgingly. He'd always had a weak-spot for women, even if his sword was pointed at them and promising death) - which he didn't plan on doing anyway.

Malik encouraged with _much disgusting _enthusiasm that the capture mission wouldn't take very long, considering the fact that the intruder had hair that was absolutely hard to miss in the mist of a mostly brunette and blonde society. Red hair was something rare and not seen much; how could it be so hard to spot someone with such within no time?

_"Just bring her back. Then, we question her, see if Jasper knows her, and if not...well, she will be executed for trespassing,"_ Malik had said.

Altair stared hard in front of himself as he got on Fatin and proceeded his way through the village gates, leaving Masyaf once again.

_"And if she is very well a relative of Jasper's and is an ally," _he had asked.

_"Then she will be under not only the Brotherhood's protection, but definitely your own. I place you on full guard for this woman - even though Jasper will be as well. Any family of a brother is the Brotherhood's family_,_" _Malik had answered with a slight smirk, not even bothering to hide it.

Altair grimaced harder than he had after that moment Malik had uttered such words. God, he hated his best friend sometimes.

_"Malik, I can't help but think this is some scam that you're trying to get me to bed this- "_

_"I don't _know _what you're talking about, my _Son_, but perhaps you get going on your mission? Time is wasting away!"_

_"You're one year older than me - "_

_"Mission!"_

_"Damn it - "_

"Fuck," Altair finally rasped out as Fatin angrily trotted down the dirt path, leaving puffs of sand in their wake. It was going to be a long mission, Altair knew. A long mission indeed. And if not, well...

...at least he would be too occupied to deal with his birthday, right? Looking for a woman who had blazing red hair, eyes of the ocean, armed and most likely skilled in combat, and who - as he confirmed the night before - had the scent of jasmine. Yes, it wouldn't be a hard mission and it probably wouldn't take so long, but most likely it would feel like an _eternity_. Women who could fight, he knew from first hand experience, had a unique sense of independence and tended to have an aspect of spunk. He knew for a fact that this woman would not be easy to keep in order, especially if he was forced to _take_ her by force.

It would be difficult, he knew, but that didn't stop the smirk from reaching his face.

He figured, in the back of his mind, that this mission would also be _interesting_, as well. That wasn't bad, at all.

* * *

**Omake**

Malik _frowned_ deeply, obviously pissed off at the smug assassin that stood before him. Finally, after a few moments of silence of staring at the face that showed innocence, but deep down showed lack of ignorance, Malik snapped, "I can't believe you did that."

"I didn't mean to - "

"Altair, I understand the fact that you are not only confident in your skills, but also _confident_ in your looks. Therefore, you expect to fuck when you very well please," Malik took a breath, "But cursing out a rafiq who is probably right at your body's inablility to _not_ have sex for certain amount of time is just _deceteful._ Haven't you ever heard of _respect your elders_?"

He watched as Altair shuffled on his feet, looking anywhere - at anything - but him. "Malik, you must understand - two _weeks_ - "

Malik couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his fist on the table and turning red with pure annoyance. "Out of my sight! You should be ashamed!"

Altair muttered something along the lines of, "it is not fair," and "_two weeks_" before he scurried away, almost immediately heading towards the garden that held the concubines of the Brotherhood.

Malik sighed, grumbling to himself. He was surprised though. Not only was Altair used to having sex on a regular basis, he also knew that Altair seemed to drown himself in women when it came around time for his birthday.

As foolish as it was, Malik could relate. Therefore, he slightly held pride at his best friend's decisions.

(Though, he _really_ needed to keep Altair from the ladies. It could get quite...unhealthy.)

(...he shivered at the thought.)

* * *

**Okay, a little late, sure, but no problem right? We cool, yes? Please, please...I hope so. :sighs, but smiles: Until next time guys!**

Altair's Birthday: **I have no friggin' idea when his birthday is, but I prefer it to be in summer, so it is. Plus, I think that it's a common thing that Altair is someone who doesn't particularly find joy on his own day of birth. Surely something tragic happened, since he very well is the 'Son of None'. **

The Intruder: **Next chapter you guys! Whoo-hoo! **

Malik, the leader: **Obviously, I'm not following the whole 'Pieces of Eden' shit, because that makes things complicate. Therefore, this is basically an AU, but still something similar to the game. Therefore, I just changed thing around. Instead of Altair taking over the Creed (at least for now), Malik is the leader. I mean, 'Malik' means 'leader' anyways, so why not? So yeah. **

Two Weeks: **I'm not the only one who would think Altair would be up a friggin' wall if he couldn't get a mission done until two weeks later from when he _could've_ gotten it done. Yeah, that's an Altair you really don't wanna be around. (And for the omake, if you're a woman - you _really_ don't want to be around him...unless his looks just make you swoon until you just don't give a shit anymore ;D) **

Outlaw Tattoo: **Just a signature marking obviously saying that this person is now not part of the Templars in _any_ association. This woman would be an imposter if seen near Templar territory. It something that Altair can look for, yeah? **

Persian Descents: **Zomg! Persian, and blue eyes. Oh my, is this some weird way of crossing-over the Prince of Persia with Assassin's Creed? Uh. No. I just like blue eyes, and persians, you guys. Honestly. This is for Assassin's Creed only. I'm not one for crossovers. (Though, that would be minorly cool; 'm just sayin'.) The red hair? Well, come on, anyone can have red hair! **

Altair's Sanity and Depression: **Come on, his birthday's coming along. Surely his mental state would be a little unstable during that time, right? Depression is sometimes a way to cope, even though it can be dangerous. But our dear sweetie assassin is too smug and likes himself too much to even think of committing suicide. Not to mention how stupid that would be, rofl. **

**Edited: January 23, 2010 - Still, nothing was changed, just edited the messed up words and grammical errors. Really need a beta... **


	3. The Rain of Blood

The Crimson Rose

ASSASSIN'S CREED

By: Chi~

**Disclaimer:**** Don't own anything guys. I sort of suck at everything, sooo…**

**A/N:** So, yeah, nothing much to say! Just glad people have been reading and well…damn, I have a lot of editing to do. :grumbles: Sometimes, I just really suck at making sentences and the flow and just - :growls: Ah, well, if people are reading, everything is worth it. Also, I noticed that the heading in the last chapter _wasn't_ messed up. Perhaps the same will happen to this chapter as well, since it's once _again _showing a different alignment. :grumbles: This site is seriously eff-ing up. It's irking me and at the moment, I don't have much patience. But, _anyways_...

As you can see, I changed both the rating and the summary because...well, there's nothing totally 'M' rated going on at the time, and the language isn't frequent. Plus, the last summary was too vague and seemed, "What the hell is that? 'm not readin' it :moves on:" So, yeah, it's all changed. Hopefully it was a change for the better...?

Continue on, my friends.

_Read in ½ for ultimate action depth. _

_

* * *

_

**Chapter II**

_The Rain of Blood_

* * *

No matter how many times he forced back millions of thoughts out of his head as he rode, trying his utmost hardest to have a calm little journey to Acre without the disturbance of his slightly angsty mood, his mind kept bombarding him with one thing. Or, more like, one _scent_.

It had been an interesting scent, really. It was soft, painfully feminine, gentle and was almost inviting. In fact, he honestly wouldn't mind smelling such a scent again. Perhaps he had left his room too early; the scent seemed so far away.

He wondered if it was some perfume the woman had worn, or if it was just her natural scent. Either way, he didn't think he really minded. He didn't have much of a preference for womanly perfume, but he knew he liked _this _particular smell. It was calming, as if the woman hadn't meant harm even though she had been armed. Hell, once he thought about it, the woman was probably just a merciful lady since she had apologized for trespassing.

Though, Malik and he knew. No one could be trusted. Not even this woman who seemed gentle. He could never be sure; she could be the devil's spawn, for all he knew.

'Course, when he found her, that was what he had to decide. (Or, more like his Vision had to decide.) An ally, or a foe.

He was quite curious though, to tell the truth. Not only had this woman sneaked past him a first time, but a second time after he had left his room to investigate. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't already realize that most likely he had passed the woman on his way down the tower of his barracks, oblivious to her very existence. (But, he _knew_ better, of course.) _That_was interesting to him.

Altair never missed anything. Yes, he was somewhat unstable from his nostalgia, but still – his senses were always sharp.

She had sneaked past him perfectly.

Intriguing, he had mused. Those were practically skills of an assassin.

* * *

The first night he travels, he dreams. Which is rare.

- -

_He was running. _

_The wind whipped around him as he left others on the sides of his path to endure his dust. He _had _to catch up, he thought to himself as his heart flipped with slight excitement. This target was quite persistent and almost a challenge. An _interesting _challenge. He had been chasing after this person for almost an hour - maybe even two - it seemed. _

_Her hair was a dark red, seemingly untouched by the scorching sun's rays. In fact, parts of her hair almost seemed black. Her mane didn't seem somewhat coarse and curly like most middle eastern women, so he could already mark her as foreigner blood. _

_Before he could think anymore, he noticed her take an almost impossible sharp turn into a sudden break between two buildings, vanishing into the darkness between. He followed immediately, recognizing the very alley-way itself. _

_He fought back a smirk; it was a dead end. _

_When he actually caught up with her, it was at the very dead end itself. And she was waiting for him with an expectant look on her surprisingly..._

_...beautiful face..._

_Covered in blood. As the rest of her body. Dripping from her loose yet form-fitting clothes. _

_Her blue eyes glowed vibrantly against the red. _

_Before he could do anything further than just stand there and stare, her hand grasps something on her hip. It takes him a millisecond to recognize it as a dagger. And then he was paralyzed, stuck and unable to move in case she considered throwing her weapon - which he was sure she would do. _

_Once again, before he could form yet another single thought or reaction, her hand raises the knief and swiftly throws - _

_- And then he is on his back, on solid ground in a mist of darkness. And she was there, much to his confusion. _

_To add to his confusion when he observed more of their current situation, he noticed they were both naked, she was on top of him, and he was inside of her. _Deep_ inside. _

_And the tip of her dagger caressed his cheek gently, hardly seductive. He bit back a gasp and made himself seem unfazed. Even though he was inside her, synchronized completely. _

_Suddenly, his hand raises as she continues to caress his face with her dagger, staring at him with those glowing blue eyes, body still covered in blood._

_Strangely, he wasn't covered in blood. But when he looked in his hand that was slowing rising to the side of her face, he noticed a feather with the tip caked with blood. Dripping and vibrantly red as if he had ran it across a recently bleeding neck. _

_He seems to do the same as her with the feather - caressing it against her cheek. _

_She smiles soon, ceasing the caressing with her knife and leans back, slightly arching with him from the movement since they were joined. But she didn't seem lustful, or drowning in ecstasy, and neither was he. He only stared, and didn't let go of the bloodied feather. _

_Suddenly, she smiles, raising her left arm and showing a marking in black on her wrist. He identified it immediately. The Templar outlaw. _

_Bloody tears began to slide down her already bloodied cheeks as her smile became strained. Her hair, long enough to brush against her elbow, moved to her side and dripped beside their bodies as she cocked her head to the side almost questioningly__ - _

- -

But that was the end of it_, _since he had abruptly awoke with a sweaty brow and tight undergarmets. But the faint, soft, womanly voice in the back of his mind echoed at that moment,

"_Eagle_."

* * *

He had to admit; she had been beautiful. Not only that, but her bloodied state continued to spam his mind so much that he had to over-work Fatin again just so he wouldn't have such a dream again. Riding would clear his mind. He wanted to get to Acre as soon as possible, because her hair, her eyes, her face, the blood on her skin, her petite form, and him buried _deep_ inside her -

He snapped himself out of his thoughts the moment he began to think about _that_ part of the dream.

_That_part had been quite confusing and he almost felt violated, even though _he_ had been the one inside of _her_. He didn't understand it all; it made no sense and he didn't even know if he even _wanted_ to know so it _would_make sense. It had been so vague, yet so vivid that he could almost _feel_ -

_Get your head out of the skirts; _Altair quickly stopped himself from getting _too_ into the musing on his dream. It was no time to think perverse thoughts; he had a mission. Plus, he didn't even know what this woman looked like. There was still a large chance that this outlaw just might be ugly.

But, still, he wondered, why had he dreamt about her? And, not only that, but why had he dreamt her covered in blood and with such a strikingly beautiful face? Surely he didn't expect...

No, that was absolutely out of the question and Altair would absolutely have _none _of it. So what if he was depressed. So what if he was lonely. He was better than this! Never once had he had fantasies, at least not for women he didn't even know. This was ridiculous. His mind was in deeper turmoil than he thought.

Perhaps his mind had fabricated such from the her smell of jasmine. After all, that was the only thing real about her. The rest of her was a mystery. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a mystery and could actually knock two Brotherhood guards and get past him without him noticing is what made him fantasize about her abilities.

Which ever it was, though, and Altair wouldn't contemplate on it any longer, he didn't know until he met her and her weapons - face to face.

* * *

He reaches Acre late in the night. He was serious about not having that dream again. At least, not on the rode.

But almost in the time frame of a blink of an eye, he finds himself horseless and dropping into the Acre Assassin's Bureau, effortlessly landing on is feet. Then, he is bombarded with the absolute need to lie down. Which he doesn't do, at first. He had the task of notifying the _rafiq_ that he had arrived.

That didn't stop his eyes from staring at the many _comfortable_ looking carpets _longingly_ as he strides into the adjoining room, reluctantly, where the old _rafiq_ was currently analyzing a map of Acre itself.

Without a second passing, exhausted topaz met deep, dark brown.

"Altair, you have arrived," the _rafiq_ enthusiastically greeted. The old man smiled brightly, even though it was basically covered by his long, find beard.

"Safety and peace, my brother," Altair flashed a tired smile as he held out his arm in greeting. Once the _rafiq_ had grasped said forearm and he clasped the _rafiq_'s same forearm, they squeezed each other respectfully before letting go, arms falling to their sides lifelessly.

"You are a day early and _exhausted_," the _rafiq _said matter-of-factly, shaking his head in slight disapproval over amusement. "Have you not learned the lesson of patience?"

"No," but Altair gave a lopsided smile, equally amused. "But I have _now_."

The old _rafiq_ barked in gently laughter. "Enjoy your lesson, young one." He shook his head again, smiling. "May your rest be comfortable and fit tonight."

Altair let out a minor chuckle, nodding. "To you, too."

The _rafiq_waved him off, putting his concentration back on the map in front of him, watching Altair through the corner of his eye as the assassin almost immediately collapsed in a heap onto of the cusions the moment he walked out. Putting his mind back on the task at hand, he lightly chuckled to himself as Altair let out an almost inaudible sigh of content.

Though, the moon was still dark in the sky but the night was young...

It was impossible not to dream.

- -

_He is watching her climb up the side of a watch tower, just as effortless as he could. She was like a spider, hardly seeming to struggle up the wall and climbing with perfect sync with her limbs. He watched with interest, intrigued that this mysterious woman had skill that was even better than Maria's. _

_Quite intriguing indeed. _

_Shimmering blue eyes, sparkling in the afternoon sun, clashed down to his and he watched her falter a little in her climbing. Her eyes dilated when his gold gaze met hers. Not a second later, her climbing commenced again, this time faster than before. It seemed she noticed how close he was and that he was watching, preparing to climb after her and - _

_He felt himself smirk before he sprung forward, like a beast after it's pray, with his usual swiftness; fast and effortless. Climbing after her just as he knew he would. He just needed to keep a good eye on her if she slipped and still catch her even if she reached the top and attempted to jump - _

_And then their surroundings shifted and merged together, making him disoriented and slightly confused...or slightly _more_confused then he already was. He refrained himself from asking, "What is happening _now_?" _

_He began to float, no longer on the side of the watch tower and climbing. He floated in the collage of colors, blinking in his helpless confusion. _

_Seconds that had felt like hours later, his feet touch some solid ground as the colors suddenly dulled and turned pitch black; eternal darkness. _

_He looked around, slightly surprised, eyes flickering here and there before his head suddenly snapped up, setting his eyes on a figure that was coming closer from a distance. _

_She was walking towards him, he concluded, from the red and black locks that seemed to bounce at her swaying hips. When he noticed the rest of her appearance, he felt his saliva clog in his throat, choking him momentarily. _

_She was dressed in rough shalwers (much like his own) that slightly rumpled under her knees from being stuffed in the rough leather boots she was wearing. (His eyes almost grew wide when he noticed throwing knives were attached to her boots - ones just like his.). Covering the shalwers from the hip to above the knee was a pure white skirt. On her waist, she wore belts that had familiar pouches and on either hip rests familiar daggers. Her torso was dressed in a white tunic, slightly big in size to hide her breasts a bit more. (He knew for a fact that her breasts were probably binded tight.) _

_Most of her face was covered, except for her jaw and delicate-looking mouth, from the robes she wore with the hood up. _

_What struck him the worse was when he noticed the beautiful silver bracer on her right forearm and the blood red sash tied securely around her thin but curvy waist. She was an assassin. The very same redhead he was meant to track down and pursue. _

_He knew from the tattoo on her left wrist. _

_With his feet planted on the black ground, he watched as she stalked toward him, a walk of a panther. _His _walk. Except, she was more graceful. Somewhat less deadly. But still, he knew when a walk promised death. After all, he did the same. _

_He watched as her delicate chin came closer and closer until finally, she was right in front of him, staring at him even though he couldn't see her eyes. Her robes billowing around her. He blinked, mind blank; there was no wind. _

_When his eyes opened again, her hood was off and her deep ocean depths were staring into his, hard and almost _intimidating_, which he didn't care. No one could hold his gaze long; his eyes were of a different world. An animal. A basilisk. _

_But they stared at each other for what seemed like hours. This didn't surprise him either. Not much, at least. This was longer than even Maria could manage. _

_Suddenly, something touched his face in bold strides, making him flinch out of surprise. She cooed at him, soft and gentle. He realized she was stroking him with a pure white feather. _

_"_Eagle_," she murmured, staring into his eyes again. He blinked. And then his arm reached out, a feather in his hand again, like in the last dream. _

_He moved the tip of the feather along the curve of her delicate, beautiful face. Over the drop of her eye, the small bump of her cheekbone, the hollow of her cheek, and stopped at the corner of her mouth, staring into her eyes during the whole time. And she smiled, eyes softening and warming at the same time. _

_His heart jumped a little, and felt a name bubble in the back of his throat. _

_She got a questioning look on her face, a ridiculously cute look, as he began to open his mouth to say -_

- -

But the soft dawn awakens him, forcing him to come back to the world and end his rest for the night.

He groans, murmuring to himself that he hoped the dreams would stop because he was too confused for comfort.

Shaking his head and rising up to his feet groggily, he stretches up his arms and loosens the kinks in his shoulders with a audible _crack_. He heard a familiar chuckle behind him.

"It seems you are awake, Altair."

"Yes," the young assassin answered back, slightly smirking to himself as he patted his body, checking his weapons out of habit. "I take it is six o'clock."

"You are right," the _rafiq_ answered. Altair turned and stalked into the room, meeting the slightly tired gaze of brown. "Rough night?"

"I suppose. I don't feel too rested." The assassin pushed the vague memories of his recent dream away; it had no relevancy.

The old man slowly nodded in understanding. This made Altair blink at him.

"What?" Altair asked.

"It's just, you were tossing and turning, murmuring to yourself about some princess - "

"Princess?" Altair was immediately bewildered and...embarrassed, immensely. "_Princess_?"

The _rafiq_ threw his hands up slowly, shaking his head, pleading innocence. "I heard "_Suri - Suri_" as you slept. I am only telling you what I heard."

"And I appreciate your honest information," Altair quickly cut in, seeming apologetic. Then, not a second later after the _rafiq_ nodded in acceptance, he asked, "then, I was speaking Hebrew?"

"Yes," the old man answered, nodding his head. "Though, only that name. The rest that you spoke was in Arabic."

"I see," Altair muttered, more to himself than to the elder in front of him. Murmuring Hebrew in his sleep...

"It is nothing, my friend," Altair assured after momentary deep thought. "I seem to be having some...sleeping issues."

"If you say so," the _rafiq_ shrugged, but took the assassin's word on it. Altair always had a leveled head. He told no lies...most of the time. That in mind, he had to accept what the assassin said. "I will question no further."

"Thank you," Altair answered with a thankful smile that only lasted a split moment before his lips dropped to its usual neutral thin line. "I will eat and then be on my way."

The _rafiq_ smiled as Altair turned away, walking toward a different doorway where a room like a kitchen was. "Safety and peace, young one."

Altair gave a stiff nod before disappearing from his sight.

* * *

He decided to scout the outskirts of the Templar strong hold. If he didn't find her, then he decided to head over to the poor district. If she wasn't there either, he would check both the rich and middle districts. The docks were a last resort (since he had yet to learn how to swim). If all else fails, well, he would have to discuss _that_with Malik. But he didn't think about that for long. He began to devise a plan on how to capture this woman - when he finally _found_ her - without causing an uproar within the dull but busy society.

Most likely, this woman would run. Actually, that was a definite fact that she _would_ run no matter what. With that in mind, he realized that devising an actual plan in catching her was probably just wasting his time. It was simple; he would chase her. And then, he would adapt.

He was an adaptable man, after all.

So, the search began.

For hours, he wondered the streets, checking both in front of himself and the corners of his eyes for any flash of red, blue, or metal. He had heard, seen, and even smelt nothing of the woman. He had been scouting the outskirts of the Templar stronghold long enough, and guards were beginning to become suspicious. That irked him.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, signaling that it was either noon or a little past noon, and that irked him even more. It was hot, he had been walking and staying alert for hours, and guards were soon going to be all over his ass. Where the _hell _was this woman? Hell, it almost seemed like she didn't even exist and that she was some fabricated person by Malik and others just so he wouldn't be moping in his room all week until his birthday had passed.

If it hadn't been for the smell of jasmine in his room, he would have considered such a thing long before. But smells do not lie...unless, that's what they _wanted_ him to think.

_Oh, please,_ he thought to himself, almost rolling his eyes. _Don't kid yourself. No assassin would ever lay a hand on perfume, muchless spray it all over your room. _He scowled. The thought was just peposturous. And absolutely immature.

He glared under his hood, moving along with the boring crowd of Acre as he continued to search for a woman whom was slowly beginning to seem fabricated. He swore, after walking a little bit more, to God or Gods that he would brutally torture those who tricked him, if this woman was actually some made-up plan to get him out of the fortress for the week.

Finally, after scowling and setting off a very vile aura around himself, he turned into a random alley-way, figuring he might as well scale the roof-tops before he jumped to conclusions. And then he stepped in something the moment he was enveloped by darkness.

Raising a brow, he stepped back, back into the light, staring down at the ground to find out what he had stepped in. He turned over his foot, looked at the bottom of his boot and blinked once again.

_Blood,_ he stated in his mind, instantly sharpening his senses and switching to 'high alert'.

Someone was either injured and escaped to this alley in hopes of confusing their pursuer. Probably someone innocent. Or, perhaps, there was a fight happening in that very alley.

With the latter possibility in mind, he took a step back into the alley, engolfed in darkness again, and listened carefully, seperating the bustling city behind him and concentrating on the sounds within the alley.

At first, he didn't hear anything.

And then he heard a woman talking. He didn't understand what she was saying, since she was speaking in another language, but he still recognized the dialect and distinguished that it was the very primary Templar language.

_German,_ he thought, eyes narrowing. _The woman. I have found her... _

The mission had begun.

* * *

"_**Ich frage noch einmal...**_"

Her voice was getting louder; closer. Straining his hearing a little, he tried to recognize any other voices than hers, _anything_ that could tell him what she was doing and who was she doing it to.

"**_Wo..._**" She trailed yet again, right when he suddenly heard a familiar crack; a bone breaking. Not a moment later, a pained yell was shouted to the heavens. And not a moment after that was it cut off by yet another familiar sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"**_Erbarme dich!_**" The voice of the pained yell wailed, in pure agony. It almost made even Altair cringe, if he hadn't been so used to hearing such things.

"**_Nein! Sag mir, wo meine Sohn ist!_**" She yelled. He crept closer, almost feeling the her anger in the very atmosphere. As he crept more, crouching on his knees to insure stealth, he heard an her impatiently exhale before he heard yet another bone break with a sudden _snap!_

She was torturing the Templar, apparently. He couldn't help but wonder why.

The scream was cut short _again_, this time blade meeting flesh - from what he could hear. Agonized groans smacked him in the face when he finally found some sunlight. She was finally in plain view.

He stepped back, straightened, and flattened himself to the wall, making sure he was hidden perfectly in the shadows. And he looked at her again.

She was just as beautiful as she was in his dreams. Except, up close, she was more severe and raw; a reality. Her hair was darker and yet still vibrant and lively in the sun. Her eyes were brighter, cerulean blue. But they were buzzing and deep with death.

Blood was all around her, as well as bodies. Crimson smears were on her simple dark blue tunic and beige _shalwers_ and long-sleeved _kameez _and her boots were coated with gore.

In his eyes, she was a woman of beauty. A woman of death.

He watched as her jaw clenched and her beautiful face screw up a little in frustration. Her tan skin glowed a lighter tone, making her seem pale in a way. All she needed were wings.

Her small, seemingly soft but bloody hand grasped the battered and broken templar's jaw - whom was still groaning in pain and bowing to her at her feet. Through clenched teeth, she bit out in foreign tongue, "_**Keine Antwort?**_"

The templar shook his head in her grasp, his chainmail making an obnoxious noice from the movement. His bright green eyes swam with tears, begging for mercy. "**_Ich weiß nicht wo er ist, Verräter!_**"

She snatched her hand back as if his distraught and beaten face burned her very palm. Her same hand clenched, knuckles cracking and bleeding. Her other hand reached for the dagger strapped to the belt she was wearing loosely around her waist. Her eyes never met the crying templar's.

"_**Sehr gut**_..." She began, slowly unsheathing her slightly-curved dagger, decorated with beautiful designs on the blade, out of its sheath on her tip. "**_Ich bedaure es zu sagen, aber ich werde dich töten_**..." She continued, examining her blade for just a moment before shooting a somewhat pitying look towards the now sobbing templar with his head bowed at her mercy.

"**_Und..._**" she started, but stopped as she walked slowly behind the templar, putting one hand on the side of his bloodied head and the other - with the dagger - across his shoulder, her blade touching the sobbing man's neck. She leaned into his ear more, whispered something so softly that Altair almost had to strain his ears to hear.

But he heard. Loud and clear.

_"_**_Ich bin nicht der Verräter. _****_Meine Mann ist..._**" She stopped short, eyes looking up towards the sky, bright blue in the sunshine. He saw the side of her luscious mouth twitch, turning up in a momentary smirk before dropping as she hissed, "**_Wer ist tot._**"

She let out a small hum, as if she were thinking enthusiastically, before her arm suddenly slid across his collar-bone at lightening speed. Blood sprayed and splattered on the ground and around her, coating both some of her face and ground before the now dead templar. She was somewhat drenched in more blood, but it seemed as though she didn't care.

Altair's golden gaze analyzed the whole dead-end, seeing the bodies and blood and one woman who looked youthful and beautiful enough to be a blooming girl.

**_"Schlaf im Himmel, mein Engel,"_**she said softly, her dagger clenched in her hand roughly as the last templar's blood dripped to the ground beside her. He watched as she bit her lip, staring at the whole scene in front of her and staring at her hands. It was as if she was surprised she could actually cause such destruction and perform such a slaughter...

He was sure she was used to her hands being bloody, since she just stared at them with no real emotion. She knew her abilities. She knew how to kill, swift and quick - almost professional perhaps - and yet...she could make the blood rain.

Interesting. She was more brutal than him, obviously, when it came to killing. 'Course, he was suppose to kill. Her...well, she wasn't. He was sure of that.

He looked her over, trying to see if she was injured in anyway, until he noticed something strange. This woman was shorter than the woman in his dreams. They looked exactly the same, but she was shorter. He estimated that she could probably reach up to his mid-chest.

"Rest in peace," her soft Arabic snapped him out of his rememberance of his dreams, making his eyes snapped up to her face. She was staring down at the floor - or maybe her boots, he couldn't tell - as she sheathed her bloody dagger back to her hip, patting it out of habit, probably.

God, he had to admit. She was more beautiful in reality.

But that didn't matter. With what he's seen, she's obviously against the Templars as much as he was.

Was she trustworthy? An ally?

Probably, deep - _deep_ - in his soul, he hoped she would show blue when he used his Vision, but he didn't notice as he closed his eyes. He had to make sure. He had to prepare for the truth. The Sight was the truth.

When his eyes opened again, she was still standing in her current spot, but the world was dark and gray. The bodies no far from him showed nothing, for they were dead. And she glowed a bright, strong blue.

An ally.

Which very well meant he was in for a chase. 'Course, either way, even if she hadn't been an ally, he would still need to give chase.

This woman _definitely_ had that _strong_ independence. Just like another blue-eyed woman he knew.

He closed his eyes, ignored the shot of pain that cut through his skull as his Vision was cut off, making his jaw clench. But he still opened them, to see what she was doing since she was so...quiet.

He almost blanched, but he didn't. He knew the possibility that she had already heard him when had gotten closer at the very beginning. But it still made his heart flip in his chest with momentary surprise when his eyes opened and she was staring right at him, as if she could see him in the shadows.

And she was smirking. Devilishly.

"_Assassin_," she hissed with venom, but her big blue eyes were strangely amused. "Did you enjoy watching that?"

His brow quirked, but he stepped out of the darkness, none the less. He couldn't help but smirk when she slightly faltered at his tall size. Yes, still, she was amused.

_Oh, yes, very prideful indeed,_ Altair thought as her smirk became wider. _But seems smart enough to determine the outcome of this 'dillema'. _

"As a matter of fact Idid." He said, gesturing to the slaughtered Templars, dead in their own organs and blood. Broken. Battered. Destroyed. "You, _my sweet_," - he almost smiled at himself - "made the rain fall." He gesture toward the blood with a small nod with his head, but didn't move a muscle; analyzing her thoroughly

She began to smile the moment he recognized the scent that was suddenly pounding into his sense besides the blood, gore, and sweat.

Jasmine was what he smelt.

* * *

**Omake**

Finally, after scowling and setting off a very vile aura around himself, he turned into a random alley-way, figuring he might as well scale the roof-tops before he jumped to conclusions. And then he stepped in something the moment he was enveloped by darkness.

Raising a brow, he stepped back, back into the light, staring down at the ground to find out what he had stepped in. He turned over his foot, looked at the bottom of his boot and blinked once again.

_Oh..._

He swallowed before he looked away and bit out, "_Ohh_, that is _disgusting!_"

Suddenly, he heard a sudden intake of breath and looked behind himself - only to regret doing so. "ASSASSIN!"

"Fuck!"

* * *

**German Translation: **

**_"Ich frage noch einmal..." _- "I ask again..."**

**_"Wo..." - _"Where..."**

**_"Erbarme dich!" - _"Have mercy!"**

**_"Nein! Sag mir, wo meine Sohn ist!"_** **- "No! Tell me where my son is!"**

**_"Keine Antwort?" _- "No answer?"**

**_"__Ich weiß nicht wo er ist, Verräter!" - _"I don't know where he is, traitor!"**

**_"Sehr gut..." - _"Very well..."**

**_"_****Ich bedaure es zu sagen, aber ich werde dich töten**_..." - _"I regret to say, but I will kill you..."

**"_Und..." - _"And..."**

**_"_****_Ich bin nicht der Verräter. _****_Meine Mann ist..." - _"I am not the traitor. My husband is..."**

**_"Wer ist tot." - _"Who is dead."**

**"_Schlaf im Himmel, mein Engel." - _"Sleep in heaven, my angel." **

- -

**:clears throat: Anyways, yeah...this sure was weird writing this while listening to "**Never Gonna Give You Up!**" In fact, it's sort of creepy. But nonetheless, it helped. Lol. **

Altair's Dreams: **He's been having some whacky dreams, hasn't he? Weirdness! **

The Blood Lady: **Yeah, she _really_wants her son, apparently. Lol. She's messy at a kill too! Such a distraught redhead! Though, she seems to be a girl who knows that she is basically damning her soul to hell, so she obviously still has some sanity. That, or she's slowly losing her sanity and is beginning to not give a shit. But, as time progresses, the answer to that will come. **

Altair's Crushing: **Oh please, he wouldn't fall for a woman just because she's skilled and beautiful! This man is a hard person to get close to. Either he lets you in or he keeps you to the curb and makes you _stay_ there. It would have to take a lot for Altair to actually fall for her. He's just admitting that, yeah, she's super hot. :shrugs: What's a man to say more? **

The German: **I've taken German class myself and, obviously I'm no expert, but I remember certain things. Like, when she was talking in singular, about herself, I changed the 'Mein' from the stupid Google Translator and changed it to "Meine" because she's a woman. There's other stuff too that should be changed, but I can't pin-point them since I'm obviously an amature. If anyone can point out the problems so I can fix them, it is deeply appreciated. **

Suri: **It's quite obvious, but I'm still not going to fucking spill it! Keep reading, yeah? **

Omake: **Haha. **

Mistakes: **If there are any mistakes at all, please ignore them the best you can. I'll get to them as soon as _I _can, since I read over these chapters a whole bunch and _still_ miss errors. (Gosh, I really suck that editing! :grumpy:) **

**Okay! Well, this is long. Hopefully it was enjoyable. I'm getting more fans and hits, so I'm getting excited. **

**Chapter III will be up some time in later-February, since I got this chapter out earlier than I though I would. Which I feel very proud of myself to getting it out so early. :smiles: So, anyways, why don't you tell me how this chapter was by clicking that beautiful green button right under this sentence, eh? Yeah, there yea' go - I see that mouse hovering over it. It's yelling 'Click me! Click me!!" :winks: Later. **

**EDITED: February 1, 2010 - Both the German statements and embarrassing spelling/grammar mistakes. Thank you SO MUCH, "**German Guy**" and "**Nuit**" for the German help. It looks prettier! :smiles largely: Yesh! **


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